


Night Out

by Stark_Revolution



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark_Revolution/pseuds/Stark_Revolution
Summary: Hank wants to meet a woman. Connor is his wingman. They could both use some practice.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Night Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kraftdinn3r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kraftdinn3r/gifts).



“Hank, I'm not sure I understand the purpose of this,” Connor said as he pulled the former police lieutenant's old sedan into the parking lot of a bar. The gaudy glow of a neon sign boldly shone the words Second Best down on them.

“You said I shouldn't drink alone anymore.” The fifty-something shrugged. “If you're with me, I'm not drinking alone.”

“Yes, but you usually prefer to drink at Jimmy's.” The RK800 turned his gaze to the building. “Why are we _here_ specifically?”

“Well...” Anderson paused. He looked down at himself, and though he didn't quite smile, he was feeling confident. “...I was thinking I might like to meet someone tonight. Dance a little. Maybe get a phone number or two.”

Hank was wearing a crisp new shirt with a cheerily loud blue medallion pattern, a brown corduroy jacket, and a pair of jeans that he thought might be a bit on the snug side. His beard was neatly-clipped and his shaggy hair was smooth and shiny. Since quitting his job at the Detroit Police Department, he was taking better care of himself. No doubt that had something to do with Connor moving into his garage and intruding upon his bad habits.

“We're here to get you a date?” The android tried not to look sceptical. “Don't most people do that online?”

“Yeah, well I'm not most people. Come on.” Anderson climbed out of the car and circled around to the driver's side. “Come on,” he said again impatiently.

Belaying his doubts, Connor exited the vehicle. He paused to smooth his own new jacket, which despite Hank's best efforts, looked remarkably like his CyberLife uniform without the android designations. He gave his cohort a short nod and began walking.

As the pair entered the bar together, Connor scanned the environment for potential partners. Within a moment, he identified nine women between the ages for 45 and 55 who were seemingly single. There were more viable candidates, but the RK800 took it upon himself to narrow the prospects down based on those that most closely matched celebrities Hank seemed to favour.

Hank, meanwhile, was oblivious to Connor's undertaking. He made a bee-line for the bar to see what was on tap, and availed of the opportunity to casually check out his fellow patrons in the process. It seemed like a busy night, no doubt thanks to the live band. They didn’t suck; that was a pleasant surprise.

After selecting a locally-made pale ale, he turned to find his android companion, who was nowhere to be found. He gave the room a sweeping inspection. The RK800 was fairly tall, and Anderson genuinely expected he would be easy to spot. He sipped carefully from his glass as he wove through the loosely-packed crowd. He was about to call out, when he heard:

“Lieutenant Anderson! Over here.”

Those words were closely followed by an alarmed, “Wait, you didn’t tell me he was a cop!”

Hank followed the sound and found Connor sitting in a dimly-lit booth with a copper-haired woman. A glitzy choker wound around her neck, with a long-chained pendant dropping down into heavily exposed cleavage. The violet, sequined bodycon dress she wore left little to the imagination. She was in her late thirties, the ex- officer suspected. Pretty, save for the vaguely terror-stricken expression she wore on her narrow face.

“ _Former_ cop,” the man clarified with a sigh as he sat down. “Connor, what are you doing?”

It was almost endearing, how innocently optimistic the RK800 was as he leaned forward.

“Hank, this is Dalila.” Connor paused; he expected there to be some exchange of pleasantries. When he was instead confronted with abject silence from both parties, he continued, “She asked me if I was looking to have a good time. I told her I wasn’t, but you were.” A less-than-sly wink followed.

Immediately, Hank put one elbow on the table and buried his face in his hand. He couldn’t decide if the situation was mortifying or hysterical. When he composed himself, he looked to Dalila, who by some miracle hadn’t taken off running. He suspected the five-inch stilettos were a factor. He cleared his throat as he got up and offered a hand to the woman. She stood slowly and shot a quick look between the two men.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Anderson said gently. “My friend here is a little on the naïve side.”

“…I’m not under arrest, am I?”

Hank shook his head and gave a quiet laugh in reply.

“Definitely not.” He smiled down at the redhead, who was visibly relieved. “The only thing I care about is that you’re safe out there, okay? Anyone troubles you, call it in. I still have a lot of friends at the DPD that will take care of you. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“Right.” She nodded. “Have a good evening gentlemen.”

Gentlemanly though he was, Hank indulged in the view as the woman walked away. He was polite, after all—not dead. As he seated himself, he squinted at Connor over the rim of his beer glass. The android wore his confusion openly and waited for an explanation with head canted and eyebrows raised.

“Hank, I know Dalila falls outside the ideal demographic for a man your age, but—”

“She’s a sex worker, Connor,” Anderson replied bluntly, “and while there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, she’s not what I’m looking for.”

“I see.” The RK800 rested his folded hands on the table. “I thought that industry was made obsolete by operations like the Eden Club.”

“Oldest profession, Connor.” Hank quirked his eyebrows. “Not going away any time soon.”

“Oh?” The brunette delved into his pocket and withdrew a quarter, which he deftly began rolling back and forth, over and under the fingers of his right hand. “Why is that?”

“You're an android.” Anderson sipped his beer. “Most of you don't even have, you know...” Much to the man's relief, the android did seem to catch his drift. “Even if you wanted to be a sex worker, the Eden Club has completely screwed androids wage-wise, which leaves humans in a position to charge a premium for a _more authentic_ experience.” He made air quotes at the last remark. “Then you’ve got the client side, who—no matter what industry we’re talking about—suddenly insist it’s immoral to hire androids when there are humans going hungry. Hell of a time for humankind to suddenly grow a conscience.” He paused for another mouthful of beer. “Don’t get why that girl even bothered you, frankly. As a general rule of thumb, androids are notoriously broke these days.”

“But Hank,” Connor palmed his coin and said, “she didn't realize I wasn't human.”

“Oh c’mon. How could she make a mistake like that?” The older man scoffed. “I mean, your LED al—oh, shit.” When Hank's blue eyes settled more attentively on the RK800, he found that signature feature absent. “When did you take out your LED?”

“This morning.” The android was scanning the room again, though this time he was looking for others of his own kind who might be present. He felt a pang of disappointment when he detected no other synthetic life forms. “I know your job search hasn't been going well, Hank. We share a household now and I'd like to contribute. It will be easier to find work if I pass for human.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hank again drank and gave Connor an appraising look. “Is that what you _want_? To pass for human?”

“I'm not sure.” It was an honest reply. “I can have myself repaired if I change my mind.”

A quiet melancholy seemed to lie beneath Connor's words. Anderson could spot it a mile away. Rather than let it take hold, the man nodded a few times and got to his feet.

“In that case, come on.” He drained his glass and left it on the table. “I need a wingman. I've been watching that blonde over by the stage since we came in.”

“Hank,” Connor followed, as he was wont to do on the best of days. “I don't know how to be a wingman.”

“Trial by fire, then.” The former lieutenant smirked. “Your objectives are to entertain her two friends there and to make me look good. Think you can do that?”

“I can try.”

As they neared the three women, Hank tilted his head towards one with bouncy brown curls, and another with a peppery bob. The android took the gesture as a cue to jump in.

“Hello. My name is Connor.” He smiled awkwardly at the two women as he announced himself. They responded with puzzled stares. “I’d like to entertain you this evening.”

While Hank probably should have intervened to prevent the developing train wreck, it gave him the perfect opportunity to meet the blonde. Before he even had the chance to introduce himself, she was nudging him in the arm and saying:

“What’s with this guy?” Disbelief was as good a reason for camaraderie as any, apparently. She brushed her hair back from her face and took a sip from her green beer bottle. Her friends were a little on the flashy side, but she was rocking a classic jeans, tee, and leather jacket look that the former cop found inviting.

Anderson glanced over his shoulder, where he observed Connor confidently declaring that he could easily keep up with both women at the same time—as long as they didn’t mind, of course. He looked back to his potential paramour, mouthed the word “Wow”, and then shrugged.

“Some people’s kids, right?” He flashed a smile. “My name is Hank, by the way.”

“Cynthia,” she replied, though she was keeping a watchful eye on her friends. “Most people call me Cindy.”

“Well Cindy, I was going to get another drink.” He jerked his thumb in the directly of the bar. “Can I get you something, too?” 

She held up her nearly full bottle in response.

“My double-fisting days are behind me, but thanks.”

“Ah,” he smiled and rubbed his hands together awkwardly. “Right. Sorry. I’ll just… yeah.” He took a step back. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Wow, you really suck at this.” She looked Hank up and down, and he all but froze on the spot. “Do you dance?”

“…yeah. Yes. I dance.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while, but I love to dance, actually.”

“Then go get your drink and come back.” As she took another sip from her bottle, some of the plum lipstick she wore tainted the rim. “We’ll dance.”

Anderson didn’t need to be told twice. Besides, whatever Connor was doing, it seemed to be working. One of his two marks was laughing, and the other was making some remark about his height while twirling her curls around her index finger. Overall, it was going well.

By the time Hank returned, the android had all three women in his orbit, talking to one another. Connor looked over their heads and made a thumbs-up off to the side. So far Cynthia had only good things to say, it would seem. The curly-haired one, Lynn, had slacked off the RK800’s tie and unfastened a couple of his shirt buttons, but he seemed to be managing her advances well enough.

“You didn’t tell us you knew each other,” Cindy said as the older man entered their sphere again.

“And compete with this guy?” Hank played it off with a chuckle. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s not a competition, Hank.” Connor declared with his usual air of obliviousness. “You instructed me to be your wingman.”

“Damn it, Connor…” It was too late to save face, so Hank shook his head and took a deep drink from his glass as the ladies erupted into laughter. Cindy leaned into him all the same, patting his arm as she laughed. Apparently none of them took the news too hard.

“God, he’s worse than a _plastic_ ,” the blonde was off-handed about her remark. While this spurred more laughter from her two friends, Hank quieted. Connor was expressionless, but Hank knew his LED would be flashing yellow right now if he’d kept it.

“Androids, you mean?” Anderson prodded. “What’s wrong with androids?”

“You’re kidding, right?” While Cindy spoke, Hank couldn’t help but notice that Lynn was getting awfully handsy with Connor. Meanwhile, the one with the bob was chastising her and warning, _Gary is going to kill you if he finds out…_ “Ever since the Markus thing, they’re so _entitled_ , and half the time they don’t even know how to act.”

“Right?” Lynn loudly chimed in as she slid her fingers into Connor’s shirt. “And they strut around like we owe them something. Like, I never owned one, so why is it my problem?”

“Oh, yeah…” Anderson’s jaw was tight as he spoke. “…yeah, I think I get it now. What do you think, Connor? Aren’t androids just _the worst_?”

The men exchanged a glance and a nod, and the RK800 deactivated his skin. As his face transitioned to pale grey the women outright recoiled from him, and others in the room stepped back. He could feel the eyes on him, and there was an uncomfortable hush in his immediate vicinity.

“The worst.” He agreed dryly. “It’s a wonder no one has tried to exterminate us all yet.”

C’mon,” as Hank extended a welcoming arm to Connor, he sneered at Cindy in particular. “Let’s get out of this bigoted shithole.”

Though the android strode through the bar with his head held high, Anderson kept a protective hand on him the entire way out. He didn’t let go until they were in the car and the doors were locked.

“I’m sorry, Hank.” Connor stared at his unskinned hands where they rested on the steering wheel. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”

“Don’t you _fuckin’_ apologize.” The human growled the words; he was seething and had nowhere to put his anger. “Don’t you _ever_ apologize for being yourself. Do you hear me?”

The RK800 canted his head in acknowledgement as he reactivated his skin.

“I mean it, Connor.” Hank made himself take a few deep breaths, and then reached over to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Android or not, his woeful eyes betrayed him. “Where do you want to go next?”

Hank was reluctant to make any suggestion whatsoever. His optimism about the evening, and about people at large, was waning. Yet, Connor seemed determined to maintain an air of normalcy, so Anderson felt like it was his responsibility to play along.

“…I… hear that new place _Sinthetic_ is popular.” Hank offered hesitantly. “You might be a little more comfortable there. I’m not the target market, but I’m sure they’d let me in as long as I was with you.”

Connor started the vehicle, but silently sat in park for a moment.

“Would you be disappointed if we went home?” he asked quietly as he looked over to the passenger side of the car. “I don’t think I’m a very good wingman.”

“You’re a great wingman,” Anderson assured him, “but if you’d rather go home, that’s fine with me. I think home might be the right call, actually. We’ll put on a movie or something.”

By the time they pulled into their residence at 115 Michigan Drive, the dark cloud that had accosted them seemed to have abated somewhat. There was no levity between them, but Connor felt grateful to be somewhere where he was always welcome. As they headed inside, he greeted Sumo with more enthusiasm than usual by sitting down on the floor to hug the dog.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Hank, who headed to the kitchen. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on a chair before circling back to put on a jazz record. He peered over the couch and noted that the Saint Bernard was still being smothered with affection, so he returned to the kitchen, where he rummaged around until he located a cocktail shaker and some dusty liqueur bottles. He didn’t make fancy drinks often, but many moons ago as a married man, he had learned.

He prepared a handsome Blue Lagoon for himself, and after raiding what he referred to as the _Connor Cupboard_ —where they stored the basics for routine android maintenance—he dressed a glass of Thirium 310 to look the same. After setting both glasses on the table he filled a small bowl with potato chips, retrieved a pack of cards, and began shuffling.

“Connor, can you come here a minute?”

“Coming.” The android spent a few additional seconds scratching behind Sumo’s floppy ears before getting up. When he got to the table, Hank sat and gestured for him to do the same. “What’s this?”

“This is a night in.” Anderson stated. “Spiffy drinks in an android-friendly joint with great music.” He dealt each of them an eight-card hand, set the remainder of the deck at the table’s centre, and waited. After Connor sat down, Hank lifted his drink.

“To good company and a better tomorrow.”

The android found the whole situation to be unusual, but he raised his own glass and carefully clinked it against Anderson’s. That was the custom, after all. A simple visual analysis was sufficient for him to determine the composition of each drink, and a small but authentic smile curved his lips. His Thirium levels were sufficient presently, but the gesture was deeply appreciated. He took a sip before gathering up his cards.

“I wasn’t programmed with an extensive catalogue of card games, Hank.” Connor said as he sorted his hand by suit and value.

“Figured as much.” The former lieutenant took a sip of his own drink and tossed a handful of chips on the floor before calling the dog to come eat them. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you. It’s easy.”

“What game are we playing?” Connor reached down to pet Sumo as he passed.

“Crazy Eights.” Hank smiled. “I used to play it with Cole a lot. It’s fun, I promise.”

∎


End file.
